Shades of the Unseen

Chapter 12: A Grief Without Justice.

The Amanika house was not quiet. The clocks ticked. The wind pressed against the windows. The floor creaked beneath every step.

Yet, it felt empty.

The family sat in the living room-Koji, Rukia, Iruma, Suzuki, Miko, Ichika, Tatsuya. No one spoke.

The TV was on, but no one watched. The tea had gone cold, but no one drank.

Nino wasn't dead. But she wasn't here.

She was somewhere else, living under another name. Tarazune.

The weight of it was crushing. It wasn't grief like death. Death had a finality to it, an end to the suffering. This was something else. Something worse.

Koji sat at the head of the table, his hands folded so tightly his knuckles were white. The dim light cast deep shadows across his face, making his already tired features look even harsher.

Rukia sat beside him, her fingers tapping against the porcelain of her untouched cup. Not nervously. Just to fill the silence. The motion was precise, almost calculated. It was the only movement in the room.

Miko sat across from them, staring at the television screen. It was black, reflecting her blank expression back at her.

Ichika and Tatsuya sat beside each other, silent, unmoving. Grandparents were supposed to be warm, soft things, full of wisdom and comfort. But tonight, they were statues—cold, rigid, unshakable.

Suzuki and Iruma stood by the window, their eyes fixed on the road outside. As if waiting for something. As if expecting something to happen.

The tension was thick, suffocating.

Then, a voice.

"She called."

Seven pairs of eyes turned to Miko.

She did not blink.

"She's fine. She doesn't know we're doing this."

A pause.

"Tarazune treats her well."

Another pause.

No one said what they were thinking. That it didn't matter. That kindness from a stranger could not erase what had been done. That nothing ever could.

Koji exhaled through his nose. "And Emiya?"

"Packing," Iruma said.

Another silence.

Emiya. The only one untouched by this. The only one they could still protect.

It was Rukia who finally spoke.

"We send him tonight."

No one objected.

The grief in this house was a disease. Revenge was its fever. They would not let him catch it.

The wooden stairs groaned under the weight of careful steps. The sound cut through the quiet. Slow, hesitant.

Then, Emiya appeared at the bottom of the staircase, bag in hand. He was young, too young to understand the weight in this room.

"I'm ready."

No one moved at first.

Koji stood first. Walked to him. Placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll be safe there."

Emiya's brows furrowed. "I'm not a kid."

Rukia came to his side. "You don't have to be."

A beat.

"You're still going."

Emiya's grip on his bag tightened. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something. Argue, maybe. But he didn't. He just held on to his bag and nodded.

They walked him to the car. The driver waited, engine humming softly, headlights cutting through the dark. The street was empty, the world quiet.

The night air was cold.

Emiya hesitated before getting in. He turned, glancing at each of them. He was searching for something, but no one knew what. Maybe he didn't either.

No one stopped him.

No one told him to stay.

He climbed into the backseat, still waiting.

The door shut.

Miyamoto didn't ask questions. The car pulled away, tires whispering against the pavement.

Emiya sat in the back, his bag still clutched tightly in his lap. The cold air seeped through the window cracks, carrying with it the silence that filled the space. The red taillights of the house grew smaller, smaller still, until they vanished completely.

"Why?" Emiya asked, breaking the stillness.

Miyamoto didn't respond immediately. His grip on the steering wheel was steady, his eyes locked on the road ahead. The night was dark, but the streetlights cast just enough light for him to navigate. The air felt heavy, thick with things unsaid.

Emiya shifted in his seat, trying to make sense of the confusion swirling in his head. It wasn't just the house that was empty. It was everything. His chest tightened with an emotion he couldn't name. He couldn't understand what had just happened.

"Why are you doing this?" Emiya asked again, his voice quieter now, laced with the confusion that had grown with every step he took away from the house.

Miyamoto let out a quiet breath. "It's for your own safety."

Emiya frowned. "I can protect myself. I'm not a kid."

Miyamoto's eyes flickered briefly to the rearview mirror, his gaze meeting Emiya's. For a moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them. Miyamoto's expression was unreadable, but Emiya could sense something there. Something heavy.

"You think you're the only one who can protect yourself?"

Miyamoto's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that Emiya hadn't expected.

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under Miyamoto's gaze. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miyamoto didn't answer right away. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road, his knuckles pale against the steering wheel. He knew what was going on in that house. He understood what had been going on for weeks now. But what could he say? What could he tell the boy in the backseat who still hadn't seen the full picture?

"The people back there," Miyamoto said slowly, "They're too far gone. This... this isn't something you can fight with your fists. They're going down a path you don't need to walk."

Emiya didn't understand. "But they're my family. I can't just... leave them."

The words felt strange even as they left his mouth. He had to leave, didn't he? To protect himself. To keep away from whatever dark thing had already taken hold of his family.

Miyamoto didn't respond immediately, letting the question hang in the air. When he spoke again, his voice was low, almost inaudible over the hum of the engine.

"Sometimes, the people you love do things you can't undo."

The words felt like a weight, sinking into Emiya's chest, heavy and suffocating. His thoughts spiraled, questions unanswered, the world outside the car a blur. The city passed by in streaks of neon lights and shadows, but Emiya couldn't focus on anything except the sudden, overwhelming sense of dread that had settled in his gut.

"Why did they send me away?" he whispered.

Miyamoto's eyes were still focused on the road, his jaw tight. "Because they love you."

The silence stretched between them, thick and impenetrable. The car continued down the empty road, the tires softly grinding against the asphalt.

And in that moment, Emiya wasn't sure if it was love or fear that had driven them to make this decision.

The house remained still.

.

.

.

.

.

Rukia's breath hitched. Koji's fists clenched. Miko lowered her head.

Ichika and Tatsuya remained statues.

Suzuki and Iruma stayed by the window, watching long after there was nothing left to see.

It was Tatsuya who finally spoke. His voice was quiet, almost lost in the thick silence.

"He's safe now."

A beat.

"That's enough."

But it wasn't.